Wrong Place, Wrong Time
by Tanith2011
Summary: When Mike arrives home after picking up Jeannie from the bus station, he finds Steve unconscious and bleeding in the hallway. It becomes apparent as he investigates the circumstances that Steve has been shot, robbed and left for dead during a burglary gone horribly wrong. A writer's H/C challenge response story.
1. ACT I

**_AN: My second "The Streets of San Francisco" tale. I hope you'll enjoy it. I'll try to update soon. This story came about as a response to a hurt/comfort writer's challenge. Reviews are appreciated should you have the time to leave me feedback, thanks :-)_  
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**ACT I  
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After parking his Porsche at the curb, Steve Keller whistled a tune that refused to vacate his mind, as he walked up the steps of Mike Stone's home. Raising his hand, he started to rap his knuckles on the door, when it suddenly swung inward. _Strange_, the young inspector mused silently as he realized the door mustn't have been shut properly. He knew Mike well enough to know the older man was never careless when it came to the security of his own home. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, Steve entered the house as he would any other time he visited. He closed the door behind him and ducked his head into the living room. His keen eyes scanned his surroundings but found nothing that appeared to be out of place. To Steve, Mike was a neat freak and with his daughter arriving that evening, it was unlikely his standards would've dropped. With nothing to indicate a disturbance, Steve's unease began to settle. Heading toward the kitchen, he opened his mouth to call out Mike's name when a noise froze him in his tracks. The sound of drawers being slammed shut with unnecessary force drew him toward the hallway which he knew led to Mike's bedroom. _Something's not right. _The uneasy feeling returned and settled in his gut as he slowly made his way toward Mike's room. A shadow fell across the floor and spilled out into the hall. _Mike?_ Reaching into his jacket, Steve rested his hand on his revolver. It became apparent to him the closer he edged himself toward the room in question, that whoever was in the house besides himself, was not Mike Stone. Someone was desperately searching for something as the sounds of furniture being mistreated could be heard distinctly. Drawing his pistol from its holster, Steve continued toward the source of the commotion when suddenly a figure dashed out of the room.

Like a deer caught in an oncoming car's headlights, the heavyset figure stopped as he faced the young man blocking his path. Seeing the man was armed, he decided to take his chances and raised his own weapon.

"Hold it right there! Drop your weapon!" the SFPD Inspector called out as he raised his own pistol and pointed it at the intruder. Dressed in jeans and a black sweater with a balaclava pulled down over his head, the gunman's eyes locked on Steve's in a silent battle of wills. "I said, drop it!" Steve repeated the command.

The gunman began to lower his gun and held his free hand up in a gesture of surrender.

Steve kept his eyes trained on the suspect as the man finally allowed the weapon to fall from his fingers. "Alright, on the floor, now!" Steve ordered as he hastily moved toward the crook. Before he could reach the intruder, a shot rang out and he felt himself propelled off his feet as a searing pain hit him in the side, below his ribs. The .38 service revolver fell from his grasp and slid across the hallway, out of his reach. Through the confusion and the pain, Steve looked up from where he lay and saw another intruder wearing a balaclava step out from Mike's room. He realized he'd given the first gunman all his attention and failed to see the suspect's accomplice step out from his hiding place. Rolling onto his hands and knees Steve attempted to rise from the floor, but collapsed, as the pain robbed him of breath and left him gasping in agony. The last things he heard were hurried footsteps and voices speaking in urgent tones before darkness swallowed him.

* * *

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, Jeannie Stone took her travel bag from her father's hands as he fumbled with the keys to his house. Still laughing at a joke he shared with his daughter, Mike inserted the key to his front door into the keyhole and noticed the door wasn't locked. The laughter died on his face as he pushed the door open and motioned for Jeannie to stay outside on the doorstep. He could've sworn he had locked the front door before leaving the house. Hitting the light switch, Mike stepped over the threshold and decided to take a look around. After the recent spate of home invasions in his neighbourhood, Mike wasn't taking any chances. He reached inside his coat and wrapped his hand around the handgrip of his gun. Peering into the living room, the seasoned cop saw nothing peculiar and proceeded toward the hallway where he thought he noticed something catching the light. Upon closer inspection, he could clearly see that a revolver lay on the floor. Pulling out his own piece, Mike quietly approached the hallway. A moan sounded nearby. Tightening his grip on his pistol, Mike quickened his pace until he saw a still form lying on the floor in the hall. Flicking on the light, his heart skipped a beat and his jaw dropped as he recognized his partner. He hurried toward the young man and knelt beside him. Placing two fingers against Steve's neck, he silently prayed to find a pulse. With a heavy sigh, Mike thanked the Heavens when a weak throbbing pulsated beneath his digits. _He's hurt, but where?_ Mike's eyes and gentle hands searched Steve's body and head for any visible injuries. A sticky substance coated his fingers as they brushed against Steve's side, close to the floor. With as much care as he could, Mike turned Steve over on to his back and swallowed hard as he became aware of the crimson stain that soaked the lower half of Steve's light blue shirt.

"Mike?" Jeannie's soft voice startled her father.

"I thought I told you to wait outside!" Mike snapped in a low voice as his head whipped up to see Jeannie's worried gaze.

Jeannie reply turned into a choked gasp as her blue eyes fell on the bleeding detective lying unconscious on the floor.

Stowing away his pistol, Mike shrugged out of his coat and folded it into a makeshift pillow then placed it underneath Steve's head. Not knowing if whoever hurt Steve was still in the house, Mike didn't want to let his daughter out of his sight. "Sweetheart, I need you to call for an ambulance. Tell them to hurry, please," Mike instructed Jeannie as calmly as he could. From where he knelt beside Steve, he could watch over his daughter as she made the call from the living room. A part of him also didn't want Jeannie to see the extent of Steve's injuries. The sight of his bloody shirt had already caused Jeannie's face to lose color. The young woman nodded in understanding before turning on her heel and hurrying to the living room. Mike leaned back and peered at Jeannie from an awkward angle. Once he saw her pick up the receiver and speak animatedly, he returned his attention to the wounded young man. With trembling fingers, he tore at the buttons of the blood-soaked shirt. _Hang in there, Buddy Boy._ Mike had seen enough bullet wounds to determine that Steve had been shot with a hand gun. There was no way of knowing how long his partner had been lying on the floor but he was mildly relieved to see the bleeding didn't appear to be arterial. He knew that didn't mean Steve wasn't hemorrhaging internally, but any glimmer of hope was better than none. Using a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, Mike placed it over the wound and applied enough pressure to staunch the blood flow but gently enough not to cause more damage. Steve's eyelids fluttered and he began to regain consciousness. A groan escaped his lips and his pale face broke into a sweat.

"Steve? Can you hear me, Buddy Boy?" Mike asked softly.

"M-Mike?" Steve mumbled.

"I'm right here. Just hold still. An ambulance is on its way," Mike replied soothingly.

"Two…two men...they…" Steve began as he drifted in and out of oblivion.

"Easy, just take it easy. Don't talk." Mike placed a hand on Steve's shoulder to reassure him and to keep him still as he grew restless from the shock and pain.

A breathless Jeannie returned to Mike's side. Her porcelain face was etched with worry and fear. "They're on their way. What can I do, Mike?"

After a moment's silence, Mike looked up into his daughter's face and nodded. "I need you to stay with him and hold this over the wound. Can you do that, sweet heart?"

"Of course. Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know, but the sooner the ambulance gets here, the better I'd feel. I need to check the rest of the house. Whoever did this could still be around," Mike replied as Jeannie took over his place by Steve's side and replaced his hand with hers. Steve cried out in pain as Jeannie pressed her hand against his side.

"I'm sorry!" Jeannie recoiled and lifted the pressure of her hand. Her eyes watered as she saw the agony etched on Steve's face.

"Keep the pressure on no matter what," Mike instructed as he held his hand over hers and showed her just how much pressure she should be applying. At Jeannie's nod of understanding, Mike straightened up and wandered through the rest of the house as he systematically checked each room for any sign the perpetrator was still around.

* * *

Jeannie bit her bottom lip as she held her tears in check. Keeping one hand firmly in place over the wound, she gently took Steve's hand in her free one. His skin was cold and slippery from his own blood and sweat. "Steve?" Jeannie whispered. At the sound of her voice, Steve opened his eyes and tried to sit up. "Hey, hey, lie back down. It's okay, I'm here," Jeannie coaxed.

"Where's Mike?" Steve gasped in between shallow breaths.

"He'll be right back," Jeannie replied, softly as she gave his hand a light squeeze. She felt his fingers twitch weakly in response.

"I'm sorry you have to…to see me like this," Steve murmured.

Jeannie leaned in closer to hear the young man speak. She shook her head and held his hand tighter. "No, don't say that, Steve. I'm sorry this happened to you. You just hang in there, okay?" Planting a soft kiss on his damp forehead, Jeannie felt a tear roll down her cheek.

With a shuddering sigh, Steve closed his eyes as waves of fresh pain rolled through him, leaving him exhausted and breathless. He tried to push Jeannie's hand away from his body so he could wrap an arm across his wounded midsection but his strength gave out and he felt himself sinking into a black abyss. He could hear Jeannie's voice calling out his name fading away.

* * *

By the time paramedics and a sea of SFPD units arrived, Mike had established that whoever shot Steve and ransacked his room was long gone. Though he couldn't be certain, it appeared to be a random break and enter and Steve had stumbled into his place at the wrong time. So far, Lessing had found the empty jewellery box lying on the floor, which had housed several irreplaceable trinkets that had belonged to Helen, including a gold watch passed down to her by her grandmother. Though the items were a keepsake to him and a reminder of his late wife, they were inanimate and lifeless. He didn't need them to keep Helen's memory alive. He saw her looking back at him through his daughter's eyes. Steve on the other hand, was very much alive and Mike knew he would give his own life to save him. He was worth more to him than anything he could ever possess. Nothing and no-one could replace Steve if he lost him.

"Mike, how did Steve get to your place?" Lessing questioned, breaking the Lieutenant out of his melancholy thoughts.

"We didn't see his Porsche out front, but that's what he would've driven," Mike mused aloud, his voice sounded distant.

"It's not out there. His keys and wallet aren't in his pockets either," Lessing revealed.

"They shot him, robbed him and left him for dead! What kind of people…" Mike's anger started to boil dangerously close to the surface.

"What was Steve doing at your place? Did he know you weren't home?" Lessing diverted Mike's anger to focus his energy on more clues to the attack.

"Jeannie's bus broke down a few miles before the bus station. I thought I could pick up Jeannie in time before Steve arrived for dinner. I didn't know Steve left the office early. I should have called him," Mike's anger subsided and transformed into sadness and regret.

Lessing placed a hand on Mike's slumped shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mike. Steve's a tough young man. He'll pull through. In the mean-time, the lab crew are checking that lock on your front door and lifting as many prints all over the house as they can. We'll catch whoever did this, don't you worry."

All Mike could do was nod his thanks before he turned away and walked toward his fallen protégé who was surrounded by a team of paramedics.

* * *

As the medics carefully lifted the pale, injured detective on to the gurney, Mike placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gazed into his half-closed eyes. "You're going to be just fine, Buddy Boy. Jeannie and I will see you real soon." Smiling wanly, Mike squeezed the young man's shoulder and watched him loaded into the ambulance. Turning to the last medic to board the vehicle, Mike grasped his arm. "How is he?" the Lieutenant questioned gravely.

"I can't say until we get him into the ER," the medic replied with a sigh.

Mike needed to know more than that for he knew once Steve reached the hospital, it could be hours until anyone gave him any more news. "You mean to tell me that's all you've been able to find out? There must be _something_ you can tell me!" The desperation and anguish cut through the normally stoic cop to the core as he pleaded more than demanded for the medic to provide him with something firmer to hold on to. Some glimmer of hope.

"Mr. Keller took a bullet to the abdomen. His condition is listed as serious. Judging from the blood loss and clotting around the wound, he may have been left without medical treatment for up to an hour, maybe longer. We can't find an exit wound which means that bullet is still inside him and will have to be removed as soon as we have him stabilized. Right now, we're having trouble keeping his vitals stable, especially since he's also going into shock. That's all I can tell you, for the time being, I'm sorry."

Mike could do nothing more than nod weakly as the medic's words sunk in. He'd heard them spoken this way before and each time, the victims didn't pull through. If Steve was starting to go into shock, he knew his Buddy Boy was in serious trouble. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to ride in the ambulance but there was only room for one and he couldn't leave his shaken daughter at his house while forensics experts went through it with a fine toothed comb. He also needed to take care of the pool of blood on the hallway floor before Jeannie saw it. The seasoned detective knew the waiting game would be a painfully long one but he had to stay calm for his daughter's sake. He felt, rather than saw, Jeannie lean against him, placing her head on his shoulder. Instinctively he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her trembling form as she quietly began to cry. Together they watched the ambulance speed off into the night as they said a silent prayer for the young man who came to mean so much to them.

_You just had to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time, Buddy Boy. _


	2. ACT II

_**AN: Wow! I certainly wasn't expecting this much feedback on my first chapter. THANK YOU VERY MUCH! To my anonymous reviewers: "maxie", "Daniela" and "Guest" (sorry I didn't see your name?) thank you for your kind words, I appreciate it greatly! Special thanks goes to my talented beta. My sincerest apologies for the delay in updating and apologies in advance for future delays. Real life is a little stressful right now and my muse tends to go into hiding when this happens. Hoping to get back into the swing and write more frequently when things settle down. In the meantime, I'll do my best to update whenever possible and I thank all my readers out there for their endless patience and support :-)  
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**ACT II**

It was well into the early hours of the morning by the time Mike and the lab crew wrapped things up at the house. The trip to the hospital was spent in awkward silence as Mike kept his eyes on the road despite the thin flow of traffic, while Jeannie leaned her head against the window with her eyes wide open, staring at nothing in particular.

Finally they arrived at General Hospital and the waiting game continued. The cup of coffee in Jeannie's hands provided her with some warmth to her frozen fingers but the ice cubes freezing her insides would not melt away. She shivered from head to toe every time her mind wandered back to Steve's blood soaked shirt and the pain in his green eyes. She jumped as something warm was draped around her shoulders.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Mike asked softly as he wrapped his coat around her slender shoulders and tried to rub some warmth back into her limbs. The waiting room was relatively warm and it worried him that Jeannie was trembling as if chilled.

"Yeah, Mike, I'm okay. I'm just worried that's all. What's taking them so long?" Jeannie asked fretfully.

"I just spoke to Dr. Moore. He's still in the operating theatre," Mike replied apprehensively.

"Can't they tell us anything about his condition?"

"Sweetheart, listen to me, they're doing everything they can to get that bullet out of him and fix the damage. In the meantime, it's not doing him any good or us if we badger the doctors. All we can do is wait," Mike took Jeannie by the shoulders and steered her toward an empty sofa. "Why don't you try and get some shut eye? It could be hours until we hear any news. I've got a few phone calls to make to the office. As soon as I hear any more about Steve, I'll let you know, okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now get some rest," Mike gave Jeannie a reassuring smile as she curled herself up on the sofa, using Mike's coat as a blanket. Sighing, Mike waited until the young college girl's eyes drooped shut before he left the room and proceeded to the pay phone.

* * *

After several rings, Mike heard Rudy Olsen's voice on the other line. "It's Mike. I'm at the hospital. The doctors are still working on him in the OR. Have the boys found anything yet?"

"You're not going to like this. It looks like those crooks wore gloves. I've just spoken to the lab and so far the only prints they found belonged to you, Jeannie and Steve. They've still got plenty to check but the guys are exhausted and so am I. We've got road blocks in place and patrols canvassing the area. I'm going home before a search party is sent for me. You should get some rest yourself," Rudy suggested.

"Not a chance…" Mike began before he was cut short.

"Now listen to me Mike, you've been on the force long enough to have more sense than that. You're not doing yourself, Jeannie…"

"Now wait a minute…"Mike tried to argue his point but was forced into silence once more by Olsen's voice rising several notches on the other line.

"_And Steve any good by running yourself to the ground!_ I mean it. I know how much Steve means to you but there's nothing you can do for him right now. Let the doctors and surgeons do their jobs. I'll send someone over to stay outside his room in case the bastard that did this tries to finish the job."

Mike took a deep breath before he responded in a calmer voice, "Okay, I'll wait with Jeannie in the waiting room and get try get some shut eye until Steve comes out of surgery. Once I see him and know he's going to be okay, I'll go home."

Olsen bade the Lieutenant goodnight and ended the call.

Sighing heavily, Mike turned away from the pay phone and headed toward the waiting room.

* * *

In the cold recesses of an alleyway, two shadows spoke in tense whispers.

"What are we going to do about the car? You should've left it behind!" the taller, broad shouldered man started to raise his voice.

"Keep it down, Tony! We can dump it in the bay," the heavyset, shorter man replied in hushed tones.

"Didn't you hear me? Damn it Wade, the cops are all over the place!" the man named Tony replied in exasperation.

"Alright, fine! Well, we can't leave it in my garage. We need to think of something."

"You were the one who wanted to drive off with it, not me!" Tony argued.

"Hey, you were the one who shot that cop! You probably killed the guy. If you waited and knocked him out, the cops wouldn't be crawling through the streets right now!" Wade retorted heatedly.

"Don't start that on me!" the older of the two men snapped before taking a breath and continued in calmer tones, "Okay, look, we'll have to leave the damn car at your place just for tonight. There's no use arguing over it unless you want to drive it through the road blocks. Just go home and we'll work it out in the morning."

The two men parted ways, each knowing they would be hunted down by San Francisco's finest if the young cop they left bleeding on the floor died.

* * *

Time seemed to be at a standstill as Mike Stone waited out yet another hour as he sat on the hard backed chair in the waiting room. He had deliberately opted to sit in the uncomfortable seating rather than the sofa to ensure he wouldn't fall into a heavy sleep. The incessant ticking of the clock was beginning to grate on his nerves and he forced his eyes to tear themselves away. His gaze fell on his daughter's sleeping form, curled up on the sofa beside him. The muscles in her face twitched involuntarily, telling him that the young college girl's sleep was far from peaceful.

"Mike?" Dr. Moore called out softly from the doorway of the waiting room.

The seasoned detective was on his feet in an instant. His hat fell from his lap on to the floor. Bending down to pick it up, he heard his daughter stirring from her fitful sleep. Mike straightened up after retrieving his hat then quietly ushered the doctor out of the room. Stepping out into the corridor, the two men walked a few steps away from the waiting area as not to be over heard by Jeannie.

"How is he, doctor?" Mike croaked.

"Serious but stable. We've managed to remove the bullet but he may have to go back into surgery depending on if any complications arise. He also sustained a broken rib when the bullet entered his body. It slowed its progression and may have saved his life," the doctor continued solemnly.

"Can I see him?"

Dr. Moore opened his mouth to inform Mike he'd have to wait a few hours but after seeing the plea in the older man's eyes, he nodded slowly and replied, "Only for a few minutes. He's just regaining consciousness, so please hold off on the questions. I know you have a duty to catch whoever did this to him but Steve is no condition to be distressed."

"I understand doc. I just want to see him."

"Follow me," the physician led Mike along the almost deserted corridor, away from the waiting room.

* * *

Mike pulled up a seat and sat beside the semi-conscious young man who lay on the bed with his eyes half closed. An IV line snaked away from his arm, connected to a drip beside Steve's bed. Swallowing, Mike gripped the bed rail and peered at his partner's pale complexion.

"M-Mike?" Steve slurred.

"I'm right here, buddy boy. You just take it easy," Mike replied in a gravelly voice.

"Two…two men in your house…they…I couldn't see…"Steve weakly began but the anaesthetics were wearing off and the pain in his abdomen became too intense for him to continue. Hot bile began to build and rise up through his oesophagus. He swallowed and took a deep breath, only to wince as his damaged rib protested.

Mike reached over the rail and gently but firmly placed a hand on Steve's shoulder as the young man struggled to speak in his distress. "Easy, easy buddy boy. We'll have plenty of time for you to tell me later, when you're feeling better."

"No, Mike, I have to…" the young cop mumbled desperately as he raised his head an inch above the pillow.

"Steve, the boys are out there now. Whoever did this to you won't get far," Mike paused when he saw Steve's eyes closing and his head leaning back into the pillow. "Steve?"

The pain and exhaustion from his efforts to communicate with his mentor overwhelmed the young detective, taking him under once again.

Mike turned his head at the sound of the door opening and Dr. Moore entering the room with a nurse close by. "Doc, he's…"

"It's alright Mike. He's just lost consciousness," Dr. Moore assured the Lieutenant as he checked his patient's vitals. "You can come back to see him in a few hours but right now he needs his rest. We're keeping him closely monitored and you'll be notified of any changes to his condition."

Mike nodded, unable to speak. His gaze was fixed on his partner's still form laying on the bed looking helpless and vulnerable. The sadness and heartache within him morphed into anger and determination to find and lock away the perpetrators who almost took away the life of one of the two most important people in his life. Tearing his eyes away from the young man, Mike turned around and walked out the door with his head bowed low to hide the burning tears that begun to form in his blue eyes.

* * *

Jeannie stirred to wakefulness and looked around the waiting room only to find she was all alone. Keeping her father's coat draped around her slender shoulders, she climbed to her feet and made her way to the door. Stepping out into the corridor, her piercing blue gaze sought her father. The sight of Mike walking out of a room nearby caught her attention and she started toward him. _Was he with Steve?_ She felt a twinge of annoyance that her father didn't waken her to tell her about Steve but it quickly evaporated when she watched him bury his face in his hands and sinking into a chair in the corridor. Covering her mouth with one hand to stifle a whimper, Jeannie stood in the middle of the corridor, out of fear of what she might hear if she approached Mike.

* * *

Sensing a presence nearby, Mike took his hands away from his face and turned his head to one side. Taking a deep breath, he quickly rose from the chair and hurried toward his daughter.

With an anguished cry, Jeannie flew into Mike's arms.


	3. ACT II: Part 2

**_AN: My most sincere apologies for the delay in updating this story. Real life caught up with me. A big thank you to all my readers and to my reviewers...it's very encouraging to receive positive feedback, so THANK YOU! _****  
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**_Thanks "mcatB" for your Guest and signed reviews :-)  
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**_This chapter is dedicated to all the awesome ladies in my "Streets of San Francisco" group, including my very talented beta.  
_**

* * *

**ACT II : Part 2**

Lieutenant Mike Stone sipped his coffee and turned away from the view of the rising sun that filtered through the window and sat at his desk. It had been two hours since he left his daughter at the hotel where he decided she should stay until the investigation surrounding the botched robbery at his home was laid to bed.

"_Oh, Mike!"_

"_It's alright, Sweetheart, he's going to be alright."_

"_He's not –"_

Mike's thoughts brought him back to the hospital where Jeannie had run down the corridor and into his arms. She had wept against his shirt under the presumption that they had lost Steve in the operating theatre. He remembered soothing the distraught girl as she clung to him, shaking uncontrollably. It struck him just how much Steve must've meant to Jeannie and he wondered if her feelings ran deeper than she ever let on.

Setting his cup on the desk, Mike picked up his reading glasses.

* * *

Tossing and turning in his sleep, Wade Moreno threw the blankets off him in exasperation and grabbed the clock on the night stand. It was mid-morning but he felt as though he hadn't slept a wink. Beside him, someone stirred.

"What is it?" asked a croaky voice filled with sleep.

"Nothing!" Wade shot back.

"You're so tense, Tiger," purred the young woman as she messaged Wade's shoulders then reached over to caress his strong chest, before dipping down over his taut stomach. "I bet I can make you relax."

"Get out!" Wade barked and shook the woman off him, almost backhanding her.

"Alright, I'm going! You don't have to be such a bastard about it! I don't work for free either."

With a sly grin, Wade bent down and picked up his pants from the floor. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a scrunched up bill. "Here," he said as he turned around and shoved the money into the woman's outstretched hand.

"Oh come on! I told you the price before you used those cuffs. Bondage is extra. This doesn't even cover…" cut short in mid-sentence by a blow to her face, the prostitute shook her head and rubbed her reddened cheek. Turning on her heel, she stomped out of the bedroom and picked up the various items of her clothing that lay strewn on the hallway floor. As she hastily dressed at the end of the hall, something caught her eye. Her client's jacket was draped on a chair at the dining table. Looking behind her, she was assured that she wasn't followed. She snatched the jacket and dug her hands into one of the bulging pockets, pulling out a black leather wallet. A noise told her she needed to clear out of the house quickly. With the wallet firmly in her grasp, she wrenched open the front door, let it slam shut behind her and disappeared through an alley beside the home.

* * *

A knock on his door disrupted the seasoned Lieutenant from his perusal of the notes and photographs on his desk. "Come in."

"Mike, according to forensics, your front door wasn't forced. Are you sure you locked up when you left the house?" Tanner questioned when he entered the office and handed Mike the report in his hand.

"I'm positive," said Mike firmly. "Check with Robbery and see if there's a connection between those recent cases they're handling in the area."

"Already spoke to Lloyd and Taylor. Three of the five robberies they're covering over the last two weeks shared the same MO. No sign of forced entry. No prints. The thieves got away with jewellery from the bedrooms and cash underneath the mattress on one home. The occupants were not home."

"Then we could be dealing with the same culprits. Only this time, they ran into someone they didn't expect to be at the house and they took off with Steve's Porsche after they shot him!" Mike's last words were spoken in a strained voice as he struggled to keep his composure.

"I'll work with the boys but so far it doesn't look like they have much for us to work on," Tanner sighed heavy heartedly then left the office, leaving Mike deep in thought once again.

* * *

A lonely figure walked up the steps of a dilapidated hotel establishment to her room. Shrugging out of her trench coat, she threw her keys on the table and pulled out the wallet from her purse. The first place she searched was the compartment where a man would normally keep his cash. It was empty. Cursing, she dropped it on the table where it lay unfolded, revealing an identification card on one side and a metallic police badge on the other. Wide eyed with surprise, she picked it up and studied the identification card tucked inside the clear compartment. A photo of a handsome man around her age stared back at her. She read the name out loud, "Steven Keller. Inspector."

* * *

When the telephone rang, Mike was almost jolted out of his seat. "Lieutenant Mike Stone. Homicide."

"It's me, Jeannie. Have you heard from the hospital?"

"Not yet, Sweetheart. Did you manage to get some shut eye?"

"A little," Jeannie replied quietly.

"I'll tell you what. I could use a break here. Why don't I pick you up in ten minutes and we'll head over to the hospital together?" Mike suggested.

"Thanks, Mike."

Hanging up the phone, Mike removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes to relieve the soreness. Fatigue began to wear him down and he knew it wouldn't be much longer until exhaustion disabled his awareness. He stretched his arms then rose from his seat and grabbed his coat and hat.

* * *

A persistent, yet dull throbbing pain pulsed through the young Inspector's left side as he shifted on the bed in an effort to get into a more comfortable position. He tried to moisten his cracked lips but his mouth was parched. Relief flooded through him when he heard the door to his room open. He lifted his head off the pillow and turned to face the door to ask the nurse for a glass of water. However it wasn't the nurse who entered his room. _Mike!_ _Jeannie?_

"Steve?" Sensing the young man's discomfort, Mike hurried over to the bedside.

"M-Mike…water," Steve gasped weakly.

"I'll get someone to bring you some," said Jeannie as she turned on her heel and left the room.

Mike stood at Steve's bedside, taking in the young man's pale complexion and drawn out look in his eyes.

"You just take it easy, Buddy Boy. You're going to be good as new before you know it!" Mike told the young man, forcing a smile to spread across his face.

Jeannie re-entered the room with a glass of water in her hand. "Dr. Moore said to take it easy on the water."

Mike carefully helped Steve into a semi sitting position then took the glass from Jeannie and brought it to the young man's lips.

Steve was prevented from taking liberal gulps as Mike angled the glass just enough for him to take one small sip at a time.

When his thirst was finally quenched, Steve lay back against the pillows with a sigh. "Thanks."

"You gave us quite a scare," Jeannie said tentatively. She reached over and held his hand in hers.

"Sorry," Steve replied, the shadow of a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Mike wished he could leave Steve to rest and refrain from asking him details about the shooting but he needed to catch the perpetrators. Steve was the only witness they had and without eye witness accounts, they had little to go on. "Steve, can you tell us what happened?"

Nodding, Steve began recounting what transpired prior to him getting shot. "That's all I remember."

"You're doing great, Buddy Boy," Mike patted his protégé on the shoulder to reassure him.

A knock on the door, caught Mike's attention.

"Lieutenant, there's a phone call for you at the front desk," said a nurse as she poked her head in through the doorway.

"Thank you. I'll be right back," Mike exchanged brief glances at Steve and Jeannie then left the room and closed the door after him.

Jeannie spotted a chair in the corner. She quickly picked it up and sat by Steve's side. Reaching out, she took Steve's hand in hers.

* * *

"Mike, does Simmons Lock and Key mean anything to you?" Inspector Bill Tanner's voice filled Mike's ear.

"They changed my front door lock last week. Why?" Mike asked.

"I just got back from Taylor's office. The guys over at Robbery just found a common denominator in all three cases of those robberies in your area. The residents of the homes that were burgled all used the services of the same locksmith in recent weeks. Since there were no sign of broken entry in each of these cases, I think we have a lead here."

"It's a start. Do you have an address?" said Mike as he mouthed the words _pen and paper_ to the receptionist behind the desk. "Go ahead, Bill. Yeah, got it. Thanks. Listen, I'm heading over there now. I'll swing by the office on my way over and pick you up." Mike hung up the phone and thanked the receptionist as he returned the pen to her and folded the piece of paper in half.

* * *

Steve listened to Jeannie's talk of college and end of semester exams but he was having difficulty grasping her words. The pain in his side had spread throughout his abdomen.

"Steve?" Jeannie looked into the detective's eyes, with concern.

Realizing he hadn't responded to something Jeannie had asked, Steve licked his dry lips and clumsily uttered an apology.

"Didn't I tell you to stop apologizing?" Jeannie quipped. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze then reached over with her other hand to brush the stray strands of light brown hair from his forehead. She could feel Steve had broken out in a cold sweat as her fingers made contact with his clammy skin. _Oh, Steve. How could anyone do this to you?_

Not willing to admit he was in severe pain, Steve forced a smile to form on his pale face just as the door to his room re-opened once again. He was relieved to see Mike enter because it would mean visitation was just about over. The last thing he wanted was to worry Mike and Jeannie if he complained to them about the pain he was experiencing. He figured as soon as they left, a nurse would check in on him and he could tell her he needed more pain killers.

"Sweetheart, I have to go. I'll drop you off back at the hotel," Mike informed his daughter.

"I don't want to leave yet. Can you pick me up later?"

"Steve needs his rest. We can come back this afternoon," Mike said as he shook his head in the negative.

Sighing with disappointment, Jeannie leaned forward and gave Steve a light peck on the forehead. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "Get some rest."

Mike waited until Jeannie was out the door before he laid a hand on Steve's shoulder and said, "Bill called. We have a lead. You just hang in there, Buddy Boy."

"Mike…" Steve began but he couldn't continue as the pain in his body became unbearable.

"Steve?" Mike bent closer to the young man's face. He could see the distress clearly showing in Steve's eyes and it worried him terribly. "Are you hurting? Would you like me to get the doctor?"

Steve nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as the agony overwhelmed him. Succumbing to the pain, he turned to his side and clutched his stomach. "Don't let…don't let Jeannie…see…."

Turning to face Jeannie who stood at the doorway, Mike called out, "Sweetheart, can you find Dr. Moore, please?"

Unable to see past Mike, Jeannie noted the concern and urgency in Mike's voice and did as she was asked.

"Take it easy. Jeannie's gone to get the Doc," said Mike. He stayed by Steve's side, feeling completely helpless as he gazed into the young man's pain filled eyes. _I wish there was something I could do to ease the pain. Hang in there, Buddy Boy. Just hang in there._


	4. ACT III: Part 1

_**AN: To all my wonderful readers -**_** _Thank you so much for following my story and for the feedback I have received. Special thank to "Guest" who I can't thank personally and to those I haven't got around thanking in a PM ._****  
**

**_Merci Beau Coup to my lovely beta.  
_**

**_Tanith  
_**

* * *

**ACT III – Part 1**

Jeannie's face was turned toward the window of the LTD when she let loose on her father, "Why didn't he say something? Why didn't he tell us he was in pain?"

"Sweet heart, he didn't want you to worry. Guys don't like to admit to these things to…"

"To _women? _I just don't understand why men have this macho image they feel they need to protect! It's ridiculous, you know that, Mike?" Jeannie scoffed in exasperation, turned to face her father and raised her eyebrows at him.

Mike stole a quick glance his daughter's way but he could see it in her eyes that she was not yet finished._ Just like her mother. Women! They seem to be all cut from the same mold. Can't live with them, and sure as hell can't live without them._

"I mean, what are they trying to prove? Sometimes I wonder who is worse, you or him? I think he's been hanging around you too long and…"

"Now hold on a minute, Jeannie! Are you mad at him or _me_?"

"Both!" Jeannie countered with a defiant edge to her voice. "You're a bad influence," she mumbled before diverting her gaze once more to the passenger side window. She could feel a prickling sensation at the corners of her eyes and a painful lump rising in the back of her throat.

Mike sighed, opened his mouth to argue his point but decided it would wiser to let Jeannie win this round and kept his silence. With another audible sigh he parked the car at the front of the hotel. "If I hear anything, I'll call you but in the meantime I want you to stay put, okay?"

Jeannie sighed then with a nod of her head she climbed out of the car. Mike only pulled out from the curb once he saw the hotel door closed behind Jeannie.

* * *

The trip to Simmons Lock and Key took less than fifteen minutes. The Lieutenant and Inspector waited at the reception desk before being called in to Paul Simmon's office.

"Take a seat. What can I do for you today, gentlemen?" After formal introductions were made, Simmons gestured for the two detectives to take a seat in front of his desk.

"We're investigating a series of breaking and entering cases, occurring over the last few weeks in the area," Mike Stone began.

"Wait a minute, I'm sorry, but did you say you were from homicide, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, that's right. My partner was seriously wounded after walking in on the intruders involved in last night's break in."

"I see. Is he going to be alright?" the business owner asked with genuine sincerity.

"We hope so," Mike replied, a little uneasily. He tried not to let his emotions show and kept his reply short. In his heart he prayed that Steve would truly be alright and he wondered if the words that left his lips were spoken to convince himself rather than to reassure the man in front of him.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure what these crimes have to do with me, but I'll help in any way I can. I mean, if you're here to ask if we can help the victims feel more secure about the locks in their homes, I'm sure we can work out an arrangement," Simmons offered, his expression betraying his confusion.

"Thank you, Mr. Simmons, but we're not here to ask for your services. I'm afraid the only connections we have between the victims are the fact that each household made use of your services prior to their homes being burgled. We're hoping you could shed some light into this," Mike continued. He was beginning to like the man's integrity the more he conversed with him.

"I'm not quite sure I follow you, Lieutenant, but I'm willing to listen and cooperate with the law. Burglary is a serious offense and Simmons Lock and Key has a reputation to protect. If you're suggesting that there's been unlawful misconduct by any of the employees here or breaches in security, I can assure you we'll work with the authorities to find those responsible. I do ask that, in return, you will do everything you can to ensure our name is not tarnished during the course of the investigation. My father worked hard to build an honest business and I intend to keep it that way."

"I understand and respect your concern. The sooner we can catch those responsible, the quicker we can leave this behind us. Can you think of anyone under your employ who has been acting strangely or complained of being short of cash?"

"No, I can't think of anyone who could be involved in such crimes."

"What about disgruntled ex-employees?" Inspector Bill Tanner chimed in.

"No. I haven't had any…" Simmons paused as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute, there was one guy we let go a few days ago. I'm sorry, I didn't think. You see, he was a fill in for one of our regular guys who was on vacation abroad. We had to let him go when his contract ran out. Had we been able to offer him more work, we would have offered him another contract but business wasn't any heavier than usual and with our competitor offering discounted rates, I'm afraid we may have lost some potential clients."

"How did he take it?" Mike asked.

"Well, we gave him two weeks' notice but he knew when Eddie was due back and I was a little surprised that he took the news rather strongly."

"How so?" Mike pressed.

"He said that he didn't think it was fair for us to brush him off and that he had been under the impression that he would be given something more permanent."

"And did you perhaps give him that impression?" Tanner added.

"No. His contract was very specific," Simmons sighed.

"Would you mind if we took a look at his file and a copy of his contract, Mr. Simmons? If you could also provide us with a copy of the receipts for all his jobs, that would be most helpful," Mike asked.

"Certainly. His name is Wade Moreno. I'll get his file and my secretary will provide you with copies of the receipts."

* * *

Mike perused through Wade Moreno's file on the drive back to the office with Tanner behind the wheel of the Galaxy.

"Found anything?" Tanner asked.

"Not yet," Mike replied, his eyes still scanning through the documents.

"_Inspectors 81. Dispatch to Mike Stone_," the radio crackled. The Lieutenant reached for the mike.

"Inspectors 81. This is Mike Stone. Go ahead."

"_Mike, it's Rudy. I just got a call from the hospital. Steve's been rushed back into surgery. He started bleeding internally. The doctors say he has a fifty-fifty chance. If you want to be with him, I'll understand._"

Mike's face drained of color and he struggled to find his voice to respond.

"_Mike? Do you read me?"_

"Yeah, I read you. I'm on my way to the office. 10-4," Mike croaked then replaced the receiver below the dash. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes as if they were strained. He could feel moisture transferring onto his fingers from the contact and he wished right at that precise moment in time he could retreat into his own fortress of solitude.

"Mike, would you like me to turn around and take you to the hospital?" Tanner asked slowly.

"No. There's nothing I can do for him at that hospital. Sitting around in that waiting room is not going to help us find who did this to him!" Mike asserted in a voice thick with emotion. "He's going to be fine. Just fine. I'm not losing him, Bill. I _can't_ lose him!"

Without another word, Tanner returned his eyes to the road ahead and respected the older man's need for silence and some time to regain his composure.

* * *

Selling her body to make ends meet, Rosy Mathews didn't know any other way to live. Raised by a mother who was a prostitute and never knowing her biological father, she accepted that life was not always fair but that didn't mean she tolerated being treated like garbage. She was human after all and emotions were real to her. After leaving Wade's place, she took a long shower and cried in self-pity. Though she may be outwardly hardened, there were times she still broke from the feeling of loneliness and despair. Taking one last long drag of the cigarette, she sat on the old decrepit chair at the small round table that served as her dining table with room for one. Her eyes were glued to the television screen as she watched the news broadcast.

"_Police are investigating the shooting of twenty-eight year old Inspector Steven Keller, a homicide detective, after he was gunned down at his partner's home, following a bungled burglary last night…"_

"Cute. What a waste," Rosy said aloud when a photo of the young victim flashed on the screen. Then something stirred in her memory. "Wait a minute!" Dropping her eyes to the table top, she deposited the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray and picked up the wallet she stole from Wade. "Son of a bitch shot a cop. None of my business. I'm just a whore, why should I care! Damn it!" Slamming the wallet back down on to the table, Rosy struggled to come to terms with what her discovery could mean for her. If she were caught with her finger prints all over the wallet, she could face charges. If she reported Moreno to the police, she could be another floater in the Bay by morning. She thought back to when Rick Stanford was killed. She remembered it like it was yesterday. To her, he was a cop with a heart who showed her an act of kindness. The type of kindness that ended his life and spared hers. From that day forth, she had made a promise to herself that she would clean up her act and be a good girl. It was a hollow promise that left her feeling even more indebted to what Officer Rick Stanford did for her. She couldn't quite lay a finger on it, but _something_ about Steve Keller's face staring back at her from the photograph tugged at her heart. She wondered if it was his eyes. The same color as Rick's. Or their age. Maybe it was because they were both cheated of their lives by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. _No, Keller's still alive. Stanford's dead. He ain't coming back. Oh, what do I do? _


	5. ACT III: Part 2

**_AN: Once again, I'd like to thank all my readers for supporting me with this story. Hope you'll enjoy this update and should you have the chance to leave me feed back, reviews are greatly appreciated._****  
**

**_To "meixel" : Thanks for your wonderful contribution to this fandom. Your stories always make me smile :-)  
_**

**_Special thanks to my beta for her encouragement.  
_**

* * *

**ACT III – Part 2**

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Tanner set the Styrofoam cup of fresh coffee down on Mike's desk, sparing a brief glance at the Lieutenant's wary features.

"Thanks. I think I've found something very interesting," Mike said without taking his eyes away from the assortment of receipts strewn across his desk. "Moreno did the job for every single address that is listed as being burgled over the last couple of weeks. He also did my house. I was on duty that day, so my neighbour, Ernie, stayed at my place while Moreno changed the lock on my front door.

"Sounds like this was more than just a coincidence," Tanner replied thoughtfully.

"Did you pull the book on him? Mike asked, looking up for the first time since Tanner entered his office.

"He's clean. I'd say Simmons already checked that before he hired him."

"Let's go pay Moreno a visit," Mike declared, removing his glasses. He rose from his seat and grabbed his coat and fedora.

* * *

Tony Brewer sat rigidly in the driver's seat of his car, parked several houses away from his accomplice Moreno's home. He cursed out loud as he watched the tan sedan pull into the curb and two men eased out of the vehicle. From the way they were dressed right down to how they carried themselves, he could tell they were cops. "You better not talk, Wade, my man," Tony muttered as he pulled back onto the road and drove away with every intention of returning as soon as the cops were long gone.

* * *

_Residence of Wade Moreno, 1973 _

Stone rapped his knuckles several times on the front door, then waited as footsteps from within the house became more pronounced. When the door opened, the detectives were met by a man in his early thirties wearing a white undershirt and jeans stood with a scowl set on his stubbled face.

"Yes?" the younger man impatiently greeted.

"Wade Moreno?" Mike addressed, trying to keep the tone of his voice neutral.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"I'm Lieutenant Stone from Homicide, SFPD and this is Inspector Tanner. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you in regards to a series of breaking and entering in the area. May we come in, please?"

"Errr….I had a late night, fellas. Can we do this later? I mean, I don't think I'll be of much help anyway." Moreno scratched the top of his head and yawned.

"I'm afraid this is a matter of urgency. It won't take long."

"Alright, come in," Moreno stepped back and reluctantly invited the detectives into his home_. Just play it cool. They've got nothing on you. Damn, he's the cop who's house we broke into! _Recognition suddenly dawned on Moreno as he recalled seeing Mike Stone's photograph at the house he had burgled the previous night.

As Mike and Bill entered the modest home they let their eyes wander, taking in as much detail as possible. They could already feel nervous vibes radiating off the young man. As they entered the living room, Mike and Bill noted that they weren't offered a seat indicating that the individual they were about to question wanted nothing more than to be rid of them.

"So what's this all about, Lieutenant?" Moreno asked off-handedly, hitching his thumbs inside the pockets of his denim pants.

"Can you tell us where you were between the hours of four and six yesterday evening?" Mike questioned.

"I was home. I went out to grab some beer early in the afternoon then I got home and drank the night away," Moreno said with a shrug of the shoulders and a nervous chuckle. He shifted his gaze between the two detectives, not daring to lock eyes on Stone.

"By yourself?" Tanner raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Last I checked it's not against the law to drink solo." A smirk played on Moreno's face.

"No, but attempted murder is," Mike said tersely.

"Just what are you getting at, huh?" Moreno shot back, his anger surfacing.

"I'm talking about the shooting of an off-duty detective at a home he was visiting. The house was being burgled at the time and when he walked in on the intruders, he was shot and has been gravely wounded!" Mike's voice raised a notch as he struggled to keep from grabbing the man and shaking him down.

"Well, that's just too bad, Lieutenant. I'm really sorry that happened but like I said, I was home all evening. Now, if there's nothing else…"

"Are you wearing perfume, Mr. Moreno?" Tanner cut in as his nose picked up the faint fragrance lingering in the air. As he took a step closer to the impertinent man, the point of his shoe connected with an object that rolled across the floor and came to rest at Mike's foot.

The Lieutenant bent down and picked up the small cylindrical object from the floor. Turning in between in his fingers then tilting it to inspect the flat end, he noted the word,_ flame_ and a numerical code printed on the base. "Is this yours?" Mike held up the object in front of him, removed the cap then twisted the bottom half to reveal a bright crimson lipstick protruding from its case.

Moreno stood dumbstruck, staring at the lipstick held in the Lieutenant's fingers. _Rosy._

"Oh that, er, must be my girlfriend's. She probably dropped it when she was here last," Moreno replied uncertainly.

"And when was that?" Mike pressed.

"This...this morning."

"She came around for breakfast, did she?"

"That's right. Look, I've got nothing more to say here so if you don't mind…"

Mike ignored Moreno and continued, "We'll need to take down your girlfriend's details so we can verify what you've told us."

"I don't see how my girlfriend has anything to do with your case so unless you've got a warrant, I refuse to give you that information!" Moreno snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at Mike.

"Now you listen to me. You've told us nothing but lies. We can continue this at the station or you can start by telling us the truth. It's your call." Mike countered, ignoring Tanner's worried glance in his direction. He knew he was bordering crossing the line as he moved toward Moreno.

"Alright, fine. I was with a girl all afternoon yesterday from around two, right through the night. She left this morning."

"What was her name?"

"I don't remember."

"Maybe your memory will return to you back at the station. Let's try again, what was her name?" Mike grilled.

Moreno hesitated but seeing he was cornered, he decided his best option would be to tell the cops the truth then worry about keeping the woman quiet later. "Rosy. I don't know where she lives. She works at McKinnon's Bar."

Stone eyed the suspect before him and "If you remember anything else, here's my card. In the meantime, I strongly advise you not to make any sudden travel arrangements. Good day, Mr. Moreno," Mike tipped his hat and headed for the front door with Tanner hurrying to keep up. Once the front door slammed shut behind them, Mike took several deep breaths. Moreno's behaviour sent off alarm bells and there was no questioning the man was hiding something. His evasiveness from their presence rattled his nerves and he feared that if he hadn't left the house when he did, he may have needed Tanner to hold him back.

"Are you alright, Mike?" Tanner said uneasily as opened the passenger door of the LTD.

Mike waited until they were both seated in the car before replying, "What I would've given to bring him in there and then!"

"You think he did it?"

"Shoot Steve? I don't know. For someone with a clean slate, shooting someone down with the intent to kill, just doesn't square it. I'm betting he had something to do with the break in, but somebody else pulled that trigger and I'm going to find out who did it." Mike's fervent reply ended the conversation as they drove down toward McKinnon's Bar the next block over.

* * *

_McKinnon's Bar, 1973_

The quiet and listless ambiance of McKinnon's Bar that afternoon provided Mike and Tanner the perfect opportunity to seek out the barman and ask him questions for which they sought answers.

"Rosy? She don't work here but my girl, Darlene, might be able to help you," the proprietor and barman, Bryan McKinnon told the detectives before blowing a shrill whistle directed at the kitchen.

A buxom blonde woman in her late twenties appeared from the kitchen, wearing a short waitressing dress and an apron.

"Hey, honey, you know a Rosy, don't ya?" McKinnon asked.

"Sure, hon. She and I…wait a minute! You're the fuzz aren't ya?" Darlene turned her attention to the SFPD detectives standing by the bar. Chewing her gum noisily, she placed her hands on her ample hips and looked Tanner up and down as if he were fresh meat to be roasted on a spit.

Tanner's uneasiness at being studied by Darlene's hungry eyes, caused him to reach up and loosen his tie. He cleared his throat when out of the corner of his line of vision, he caught Mike rolling his eyes. "Miss?" He croaked, with every attempt to sound professional.

"Andrews. Miss Andrews, love. But you can call me Darlene. Now, what's this about Rosy? She's not in some kind of trouble is she? Because if she is, I can tell ya right now, I want no part of it. I left that life a long time ago. I don't work the streets no more."

"Miss Andrews, we're not looking for Rosy because we think she's trouble. We just want to ask her a few questions. She might be able to provide us with some vital information to help us out on a case we're working on. We're not interested in how she makes a living. Do you know where we can find her?" Mike stepped in, relieving Tanner of having to stumble over his words.

"Sure. She lives in an apartment down on King Street. Here." Darlene retrieved an order slip from her apron and pulled a pen free from her hair which had been secured in a tight bun. She jotted down the address and handed the piece of paper to Tanner with deliberate care. Mike looked on in a semi amused fashion as Tanner took the note from Darlene and extricated his fingers from her clutches with difficulty. "Say what time do you get off?" Darlene whispered huskily.

"He doesn't. I just got off the phone from his wife a little while ago and funnily enough she asked me the same question. Anyhow, thank you for your cooperation, Miss Andrews. Much appreciated," Mike interjection, tipping his hat, before grasping Tanner's sleeve and releasing him from his immobile state. A prickling sensation pinched his heart as he reminisced the many times when he had rescued Steve from similar compromising situations involving the opposite sex. Tanner's reactions were more reserved and it made Mike miss his partner all the more.

* * *

_Residence of Wade Moreno, 1973 _

Yanking the front door open, Wade Moreno stepped back as Tony Brewer barged his way in.

"Did you have a nice time talking with the pigs?" Tony grabbed a handful of Wade's undershirt and shoved him backward into the wall.

"Easy, man! I didn't say anything! Look, if I did, don't you think I'd be sitting in a cell right now? They're not even watching the house!" Wade all but pleaded to the larger man who began twisting the material of his undershirt in his fists, drawing him closer to his face.

"Did you get rid of the car?" Tony growled.

"It's in the garage. I didn't get a chance to…the cops were here and…" Wade's excuse was cut short when a fist buried itself in his midsection.

"Get rid of it then make yourself scarce!"

"I ca…can't! The cops….they…they're checking on a girl," Wade gasped, as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.

"What girl?" Tony demanded, pulling Wade upright then slamming him up against the wall.

"Rosy. She's a hooker…spent the night. She's my alibi."

"Will she stick to your story?"

"Yeah, she will. I'll make sure of it."

"You better!" Tony released Wade and stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. "Don't try to call me. You'll get your cut once I sell the goods."

"But how will I know…"

"I guess you'll just have to trust me, won't you? Lay low until things cool down. I'll find you then."

"Lay low? You shot a cop!"

"And that makes you an accomplice, Wade. Get used to it," Tony snapped with a leer then stormed out of the house, leaving Moreno to slide down the wall, and onto the floor.


	6. ACT IV: Part 1

_**AN: **Merci Beau Coup to my brilliant beta._

_Thanks to all who have been reading my story and to those who had the opportunity to leave me reviews, I very much appreciate your feedback :-)_**  
**

_To my guest reviewer, "Marie", whom I am unable to send a PM to personally thank her: _

_Marie, I am very flattered by your comments, thank you. I see that you are a fan of the series :-) Since you are new to the world of fan fiction, on behalf of my fellow writers, I'd like to welcome you as a reader here and hope you'll enjoy the growing list of stories that are on offer.  
_

_Tanith  
_

**ACT IV: Part 1**

_Residence of Roselyn Wakefield_

The drive down King Street to Rosy's residential address was spent in solemn silence as Mike's worry over Steve's surgery began to overtake his concentration on the investigation at hand, while Tanner was simply at a loss for the right words to say. When they reached the dilapidated block, the two detectives exited the tan LTD and made their way to the Rosy's apartment. After knocking on the front door and Mike calling out the routine introductions, they waited several minutes, with their ears pressed close to the door and the wall, listening for footsteps. When it became evident that no one was home, Mike shook his head and walked away with Tanner following close behind him. Without a warrant, Mike knew he was wasting his time waiting there another moment longer.

Snatching the mike from beneath the dash in frustration, the Lieutenant reported to his Captain.

"Any more word on Steve?" Mike added before Olsen ended the transmission.

"_No, he must still be in the operating room. I'm sorry, Mike. Look, why don't you take the rest of the day off. That's an order, Mike. Go to the hospital. You might want to bring Jeannie along."_

Mike shut his eyes as the full impact behind Olsen's words hit home. He knew Olsen well enough to know that he wouldn't have asked him to bring Jeannie along unless he suspected the worst. With a croaked, "10-4," Mike disconnected from the radio and ran a trembling hand over his face, letting it come to rest over his mouth as he fought the urge to be overcome by a tidal wave of emotions.

"I'll drive by the hotel and pick Jeannie up then we'll…"

"No, I don't want Jeannie…" Mike cut in, his voice thick with emotion.

"Mike…"

"I said, no. I don't want my daughter there. Don't you understand…," Mike turned his head to look Tanner in the eye. His gruffness surprised his own ears but it was too late to take it back.

"Alright. We'll go straight to the hospital, then," Tanner conceded with a sigh. He took no offense for he could only imagine how torn up Mike was felling inside.

…..

_General Hospital, 1973_

Walking down the seemingly endless stretch of General Hospital's main corridor, Mike sat on a chair outside the waiting room, bone-weary and utterly miserable. Tanner had gone to grab a bite to eat and to stop by at the office, but told Mike he'd be back to see how Steve was faring and to take Mike home when he was ready. In all honesty, the Inspector dreaded the return trip for he knew the odds were against Steve.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Mike closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle, when the voice of an angel called out his name.

"Mike?"

Lifting his eye lids open with a jolt, Mike looked up and saw Jeannie's face hovering above him. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy from crying and her hair was pushed back behind her ears, looking the worst for wear.

"What are you doing here, Sweetheart? I thought I told you to stay back at the hotel!" Mike's gravelly voice raised a notch as he slowly rose to his feet, looking his daughter straight in the eye.

A flash of anger passed over Jeannie's eyes and with her jaw set stubbornly, she drew herself up, crossing her arms in front of her. "Well, maybe if you had been _honest_ with me in the first place, we could have come here _together_!"

"Oh no, don't give me that, Jeannie!"

"Don't give you what? Are you trying to tell me that Steve's life means more to you than it does to me? Is that it, Mike?" There was no holding Jeannie back and she ignored the tears that started to well up in her eyes.

"No, it's not it!" Mike shot back.

"Then why all this secrecy? Why didn't you tell me he was being taken back to surgery? What if he doesn't make it? I'll never….I'll never get the chance to…to tell him…" Jeannie's voice faltered until she could say no more and dropped her gaze, all the anger transforming into a fiery pain that left her breathless and trembling.

Time stood still and the sound of blood rushing through Mike's ears blocked out what the rest of the world had to say. So consumed was he in his sorrows that he wasn't even consciously aware of taking a step forward and pulling Jeannie into his arms. Absorbing each other's torment, Mike and Jeannie sought refuge in one another as they allowed the floodgates to break free.

"Lieutenant Stone?"

Reluctant to let his daughter go, Mike gently pulled away, wiped his eyes frantically with the back of his hand and turned to see a man clad in surgical scrubs walking toward them.

"Yes, I'm Stone," Mike croaked.

"I'm Dr. Collins. I understand you're both here for Mr. Keller?"

"Yes, we are. We were told he was taken into surgery. How is he?"

"We managed to stop the bleeding and stabilize his condition. He's just been taken to the recovery room where he'll be closely monitored for the next forty-eight hours."

A collective sigh of relief escaped both Jeannie and Mike's lips.

"Will he be alright, now, Doc?" the question hung suspended in the air for several seconds.

"I can't make any promises but I would say in my opinion that given his age and stamina, he should make a full recovery."

The words that left the doctor's mouth was magical to Jeannie and Mike's ears and they could already feel the heavy weight lifted from their shoulders. Jeannie leaned her head against Mike as her father wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders and gave her a light, reassuring squeeze.

"Can we see him?" Jeannie asked in a beseeching tone.

"He's only just coming out of the anaesthetics so he may not acknowledge your presence, but you can stay with him for a few minutes."

Mike thanked the physician and, together with Jeannie by his side, followed Dr. Collins down the corridor.

…..

Residence of Roselyn Wakefield, King Street, 1973

Wade Moreno's knocking grew more persistent as his agitation reached new heights. Letting out a harsh intake of breath, he called out for Rosy's name. When it became apparent that no response was forthcoming, the young crook rammed the door in with shoulder and broke into the apartment.

"Rosy! Rosy!"

…..

SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, 1973

The scent of a woman's perfume wafted up Haseejian's nose and he slowly lifted his head from his paperwork. His eyes travelled up from the top of his desk to the slender figure of a young woman with flame red hair that cascaded down and around her shoulders. She cleared her throat in a subtle manner and though she gave the Inspector a small smile, her troubled features broke through the surface. "What can I do for you, Miss?" Haseejian asked politely and professionally.

"I'm here about the shooting of Inspector Steven Keller. Is there someone in particular here who I can talk to?" Rosy Wakefield replied. Her voice wavered as she tried to speak in as a refined lady-like manner as possible. "Please?" The last word caught in her throat as she felt a pang of sadness when memories of Officer Stanford came flooding back to her. She remembered the way he would subtly correct her when she spoke uncouthly. She recalled how much she had hated it at first, out of shame that she was uncultured but the smile he gave her each time she vented her frustrations, won her over. She knew it then that he wasn't trying to mock her. He genuinely cared. He was the only human being she knew that did.

"Take a seat, Miss. Would you like some coffee or tea?" Haseejian offered, gently. He pulled himself out of his desk space.

"Just water," Rosy said stiffly then took a seat. "Thank you," she added as an after-thought. She instantly felt her face burn. What am I doing here?

Haseejian nodded with a smile then quickly sought after Bill Tanner.

…..

General Hospital, 1973

Never had Mike or Jeannie seen the wavy haired detective look so frail than at that moment. Sitting beside the bed and holding Steve's hand, Jeannie swallowed the lump that formed in the back of her throat. She felt her father's hand gently squeeze her shoulder as he too peered into his protégé's pallid face.

"Hey," Steve croaked, his lips hardly moving and eyes barely open. He could feel Jeannie's soft touch as she held him hand in hers but he was too weak to respond.

"Hey yourself," Jeannie said as she let out a nervous laugh and brought his fingers to her lips, kissing them lightly.

"Mike?" Steve tried to lift his head above the pillows to search for his partner but it felt too heavy for him to move.

"I'm right here, Buddy Boy," Mike replied and shifted closer to the bed. He leaned forward and gave the young man's shoulder a reassuring pat.

A knock on the door disrupted the moment.

"Lieutenant, there's a phone call for you. An Inspector Tanner is on the line. He said it's urgent," Dr. Collins announced from the doorway.

"I'll be right back," Mike whispered to Steve before he gave Jeannie a small smile then reluctantly left the room.

…..

"Bill, what's going on?" Mike asked, the terseness in his voice unintended.

Dismissing the older man's tone for worry and tension, Bill Tanner skipped small talk and went straight to the point, "Mike, I've got Rosy here at the office. You better head over to here. It looks like Moreno is our guy. She's given a sworn statement and solid evidence that he was at your place the night Steve was shot. She brought in Steve's badge case. We've got an APB out for Moreno."

Almost dropping the phone, Mike took in every word Tanner relayed to him on the other line. "I'm on my way!" Ending the call, Mike ran back to Steve's room, nearly knocking down an orderly in his haste and anxious state.

Bursting into the recovery room, he took Jeannie's hands in his as she jumped up from her seat.

"Mike, what is it?" Jeannie demanded, worriedly.

"I have to go to the office. Tanner has a very strong lead and evidence to get Steve's shooter. Will you be alright to stay here awhile until I get someone to pick you up? I don't know how long I'll be."

"Yes, of course! Be careful," Jeannie reached replied. She reached up and kissed her father's cheek.

Mike nodded then peered at Steve's semi-conscious form. "Take it easy, Buddy Boy." He thought about sharing the development with Steve but decided it was best not to overwhelm him in his present condition.

Steve nodded weakly and watched Mike disappear through the doorway. Still too disoriented, he failed to notice that anything was amiss. The last thing he remembered seeing was Jeannie's angelic face and her sparkling blue eyes searching for his. Savoring the image in his mind, he allowed sleep to claim him and take him away from all the confusion and nauseating dizziness.


	7. ACT IV: Part 2

_**AN: I hope everyone had a fantastic start to the New Year :-)  
**_

_**I would like to thank all my readers for their support and patience. RL and an unco-operating muse has played a major role in the delay between updates.  
**_

_**A special thank you goes to my marvelous beta for her confidence in me and for proof reading this.  
**_

_**To my reviewer, "Cruelest Sea" - As I am unable to send you a PM, I would like to thank you for your kind review. I am flattered by your comments which made me blush! This chapter is for you.  
**_

**_Tanith_  
**

* * *

**ACT IV – Part 2:**

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, 1973_

Mike took the badge case from Rosy's outstretched hand and opened it. Steve's photo identification card was still tucked inside the clear insert but his badge was missing.

"That was how I found it. I thought it was Wade's wallet when I took it," Rosy answered the unvoiced question that she saw in the senior detective's eyes as he shifted his gaze from the case to her face.

"Do you know if he owns a gun, Miss Wakefield?" Mike asked.

"No, I don't but he's capable of hurting another human being. Despite what I do to earn a living, I'm still a living, breathing human being, Lieutenant," Rosy took on a defensive tone as she became uncomfortable beneath Stone's scrutinizing gaze.

Mike knew exactly what Rosy meant. He could see where Moreno had struck her as his eyes fell on the faint marking on the edge of her jaw, peeking through her make-up. No man should ever strike a woman, thought Mike. His strict up-bringing taught him values that seemed to have lost their importance to the ever changing society they lived in, as time moved them away from the significance of morals. Putting aside his personal opinions, Mike continued his line of questioning as he sat opposite the prostitute in his office.

"Miss Wakefield, I appreciate you coming in here of your own accord. Inspector Steve Keller is my partner and this case is close to home. Until we have Moreno and his accomplice behind bars, you'll need our protection. Our witness protection program will ensure your safety is of the utmost importance." Mike began outlining what was required of Rosy and where she'll be staying until the culprits were locked away for a long time.

Feeling overwhelmed by what was happening with her life, Rosy sat quietly, listening intently, all the while fidgeting with the wad of tissues in her hand that she had used to wipe the ink from her fingers after being printed. Like rose petals picked off the stem, the tissues in Rosy's hand fell apart from her fidgeting fingers and littered the floor like snow-flakes in the bitter cold.

"Haseejian!" Mike called out from the door of his office.

Unnoticed by the Lieutenant, Rosy jumped in her seat from the sudden noise.

"Miss Wakefield is your responsibility. Take care of her." Mike issued his instructions to the Armenian Sergeant who escorted the young woman out of his office with all the genteel quality he was renowned for.

Just as Rosy was led away by Haseejian, Lieutenant Roy Devitt met Mike at the entrance to his colleague's office. "I've got a warrant to search Moreno's property and another one for his arrest."

"Good. Get some of the boys together, just in case he does have a gun and bring him in. I'll be at Rosy's apartment with Bill, just in case the accomplice turns up there. He's still at large and we've yet to identify him. Chances are he's an associate of Moreno's and if Moreno is a regular client of Rosy's he might have other ideas on keeping her quiet once he finds out we have his partner in crime in custody," Mike explained after assessing the situation.

"Watch your back," Devitt replied then hurried off to round up a team.

Grabbing his coat and fedora, Mike made haste in his preparations and walked past Tanner's desk with a quick, "Bill, let's go."

Equally swift on the uptake, Tanner laid his paperwork to rest and retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair, then followed Mike out of the office suite.

* * *

_Residence of Roselyn Wakefield_

Approaching Rosy's apartment with caution, Mike Stone and Bill Tanner stood on either side of the door. Tanner silently directed Stone's gaze to the splintered wood around the door frame, indicating forced entry, even though the door itself was closed. Mike nodded then both officers drew out their pistols. With his free hand, Mike carefully pushed against the door and it swung open. Stepping away from the wall, he signalled for Tanner to cover him. Taking a deep breath, Mike slowly passed over the threshold, his gun raised and held close to his body. Suddenly a figure leapt out from behind the door and wrapped a piece of cord around his neck. Mike dropped his gun and instinctively reached up to pry at the cord that was cutting off his oxygen supply.

"Police! Let him go!" Tanner shouted the moment he saw what had transpired.

Although Wade Moreno was expecting a woman to step into the apartment and not a man, it was too late for hesitation. He intended to bring down the stranger and knock him out cold. Before he could even take a breath in his struggle to bring down the man, he realized a little too late that he had just attacked a cop. To make matters worse, he recognized the Lieutenant as the same cop who had questioned him at his home. Relinquishing his hold on the cord, he let the detective drop to the floor before he tried to make a quick dash toward the open window when strong hands grasped him by the back of the shirt, swung him around and shoved him forcefully face first into the wall.

"Keep your hands up against the wall!" Tanner commanded as he began frisking the suspect for concealed weapons.

Mike rubbed his neck, took several deep breaths and tried to swallow down the ache in his throat. Adrenaline rushed through him, leaving him feeling a little giddy. The attack had caught him off guard and he was glad to have Tanner cover him.

"Are you alright, Mike?" Tanner asked as he cuffed Moreno and pulled him away from the wall.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Mike answered hoarsely. He bent down slowly, wincing as he did and picked up his gun and the length of cord from the floor. After re-holstering his revolver, he twirled the cord between his fingers then took a good look around him. _Bingo!_ A disconnected telephone was lying on the floor in one corner of the room. The cord had clearly been pulled free from the contraption and used as a weapon. Shifting his gaze to the suspect, Mike continued in a serious tone, "You're under arrest for two counts of attempted murder, burglary armed with a deadly weapon, assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. And that's just for starters!"

As Stone read him his rights, Moreno's shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew his best chance for leniency at the trial would be to cooperate and keep his temper in check despite his hatred for the law.

"Let's go!" Mike snapped as he and Tanner escorted a cuffed Moreno out of the apartment.


	8. ACT V: Part 1

_**AN: A BIG thank you goes to all my readers out there :-) To those who had the time to leave me a review...I can't remember if I've sent you all a PM to thank you but I appreciate all your kind comments. While I don't write to get reviews, as a writer, positive feed back is very encouraging as it lets me know what aspects of my writing or story you enjoy most and constructive feed back helps me grow to be a better writer.  
**_

_**Special thanks goes to "jodm" for her trivia on SF transport and for her constant support.  
**_

_**Tanith  
**_

**ACT V**

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, 1973_

Sitting across from the suspect, Mike continued to question the man's whereabouts the night Steve was shot. While Wade Moreno was doing his best to dance around the subject by insisting all he could remember was spending the night with a prostitute, Mike could see the sweat glistening on the younger man's face and the agitation in his voice was not lost on the detective. To Mike, these were common traits of a guilty conscience.

"If you really have nothing to hide then what were you doing in Miss Wakefield's home? Do you deny you tried to cause her harm?" Bill Tanner rounded on Moreno as he paced Mike's office.

"Look, I told you. She stole my money and I was there to teach her a lesson not to do it again…"

"You were at that apartment with one intention: murder!" Mike cut in gruffly.

"Oh come on! Why would I bother killing a whore? Sure I was going to knock her about a bit and give her a real good scare, but I wasn't going to kill her! I'm not saying anything else. I wanna speak to a lawyer. I have rights you know!" Moreno retorted heatedly.

Before Mike's temptation to grab the lout and throw him up against the wall became a reality, an urgent knock on the door broke the tension.

Tanner opened the door and allowed Devitt to enter.

"Mike, we found Steve's Porsche in Moreno's garage. We also found a gun in the house. It could be the same one used to shoot down Steve," Devitt announced.

All eyes immediately turned to the suspect sitting in the chair in front of Mike's desk. They noted the color drain from the young man's face.

"Don't even bother trying to explain that. You can wait for your lawyer," Mike stated firmly with a hint of triumph in his voice as he pointed at Moreno for effect then said to Tanner, "Book him for two counts of attempted murder…"

"No, wait! I swear I didn't do it! I didn't shoot that cop!" Moreno protested, leaning forward across the desk to beg for Mike's attention.

"Get him out of here and lock him up!" Mike ordered Devitt and Tanner.

As Devitt and Tanner grabbed hold of Moreno's arms on either side, the suspect started to struggle and the smugness and streetwise attitude was replaced with fear and a desperate longing for self-preservation. "No, no, please! Alright…Alright I was there when the cop was shot but it wasn't me who pulled the trigger! I never wanted to hurt anyone! There wasn't meant to be anyone home! You gotta believe me!" Moreno pleaded.

Mike held up a hand to forestall Devitt and Tanner then motioned for them to let Moreno sit back down in the chair. "Who did it?"

Moreno's hesitation was met by Mike's glare and the young man resigned himself to his fate. "Tony. Tony Brewer is your guy," Moreno finally revealed.

"You and Brewer robbed my house then Brewer shot my partner? Why should we believe you?" Mike questioned coldly.

"It's the truth, man! I thought he was going to knock him out. I didn't know he was going to shoot anyone. Your cop came out of nowhere and we panicked!" Moreno insisted in desperation.

"How did you and Brewer get hooked up?" Mike demanded.

"I met him one night when I was drinking at a bar. I'd just found out I was gonna lose my job at Simmons Lock and Key and I guess I was mouthing off about it when Tony told me he knew of a way to get even with them."

"_Even?_ You were hired on a temporary basis. It says so in your contract! A contract that you signed!"

"Look, you don't understand! I worked real hard on that job and the least they could've done was given me something part time. I needed that job! Just because I only signed on to relieve some guy on vacation doesn't mean they could just throw me away like garbage!"

Mike's patience had worn down and he failed to keep his voice steady as he blasted Moreno, "That still doesn't give you the right to manipulate the basis of your contract! It might not be fair to you but the company was well within its legal rights to let you go when the contract ended. Right now, I'm not interested in your sob story! If what you're telling me is the truth, then there's a killer on the loose and you have two choices. You can tell me where I can find Brewer or you can sit in a cell and think about those charges you're facing!"

Moreno's shoulders sagged as he gave out Tony's address.

"Roy, get a hold of the airport with Brewer's details and notify security that he is not to board a plane and that he is armed and dangerous. Get Norm to pass the word on to the bus, BART, and train depots and set up road blocks on the main highways that Brewer is likely to use to make a get-away. I want the city sealed off!" Mike instructed urgently before he called out the door for Sekulovich to take Moreno into booking.

"I'm not going to jail for something I didn't do!" Moreno cried out.

"That's the least of your worries! Right now you're still facing an attempted murder charge and armed robbery. That's assuming you are telling us the truth about your accomplice." Mike ignored Moreno's protests, grabbed his coat and fedora then stormed out of the office with Tanner hurrying to keep up.

* * *

_Residence of Tony Brewer_

Tossing a sports bag on top of the bed, Tony Brewer started to fill it with the scant contents of his wardrobe and drawers. The last item to be slipped into the slim compartment at the front of the bag was his passport. He then picked up his pistol and stowed it beneath the waistband of his jeans. He had every intention of disposing the weapon on his way to the airport but not before he paid Moreno a visit. With the hooker taken care of and the shot-up cop off limits with the possibility of not pulling through, he needed to tie up the only other loose end. It might not get him off the hook but at least getting his accomplice and the girl out of the way would keep the cops busy and confused long enough for him to get out of San Francisco.

* * *

Silently but hastily, Lieutenant Mike Stone, Inspector Tanner and two other officers reached the modest home of Tony Brewer. At Mike's signal, Tanner and one of the officers rounded the back while he and the second officer proceeded toward the front door with their guns drawn but in a lowered position in front of them.

"Police, open up!" Mike called out, his free hand wrapped around the door knob as he stood to one side with his back pressed firmly against the wall.

* * *

Cursing at his bad fortune, Brewer hurried toward the back door but a quick glance through the crack between the curtain and the back door window, revealed movement and he knew he was trapped. _Damn it!_ Abandoning the black sports bag, he pulled out his pistol, checked that it was fully loaded then stood to the side of the back door. He peeked through the curtain again and counted two men; one uniformed cop and one plain clothed. He figured these would be easier to take out than the big shot hollering at the front door. Heading out the back would also give him a better chance of escaping. A scrap yard was well within his reach but first he needed to take care of the two cops waiting for him outside his back door. Pulling back the hammer, he cocked the pistol, took a step away from the door then fired a shot straight through the glass. A cry of pain reached his ears and much to his satisfaction he heard the sound of someone going down but before he could do anything else, the door slammed open. Brewer ducked and rolled away from the door then raised his gun and fired another round. Another cry of pain told him his second shot had taken out both the obstacles standing in his way to freedom.

* * *

Bill Tanner felt the gun leave his hand before a burning pain caused him to cry out involuntarily. He withdrew from the back door and clutched his right hand as a searing sensation crawled across the top of his knuckles. There was no time for him to attempt to pick up his gun as a figure of a dark haired, solidly built man in his mid-thirties flew out the back door. The man wheeled around, let loose a wild shot that missed the African-American Inspector by inches then took off at a run.

* * *

After hearing the first shot coming from inside the house, Mike broke through the front door and with Officer Brady covering him, he cautiously made his way into Tony Brewer's home. A crashing sound was followed by a second shot causing Mike's heart to skip a beat. The seasoned cop ran at a crouch toward the back of the house. The figure of a man who could only be none other than Tony Brewer raced out the back door. With no time to issue orders, Mike ran after the crook with the younger officer behind him. As they exited the home, a third shot rang out and instinct told them to duck down. Seeing the culprit leap over the back fence, Mike straightened up and found Tanner leaning against the wall clutching his hand.

"Are you alright?" Mike asked breathlessly.

"Yeah, I'm okay. It just took some skin off. I'll be fine," Tanner panted.

A groan alerted Mike to Officer Phillips who lay on the ground holding his side. Gesturing for Officer Brady to take care of Phillips, Mike started after Brewer.

"Mike! Be careful!" Tanner shouted as looked on helplessly. He was torn between going after the Lieutenant or staying behind to call for back up and an ambulance. Nursing his injured hand and gazing over at the wounded officer, Tanner made his choice and one that he wished he didn't have to make as he headed back to the LTD to call for assistance.


	9. ACT V: Part 2

_**AN: As always, I'd like to say a big thank you to all my readers. We're nearing the end and I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. **_

_**This chapter is for "CasiNight" - I know you've been waiting so patiently for an update on Steve :-)  
**_

_**A special thank you goes to my beta for all her encouragement and support.  
**_

_**Tanith2011  
**_

* * *

**ACT V: Part 2**

_General Hospital, SF, 1973_

The feel of someone lightly tapping her on the shoulder woke Jeannie from her slumber. "Hmm?" She looked up and confusion was replaced with disappointment when Dr. Collins' kind face filled her vision. "Can I stay here a while longer, please?"

With a sigh, the physician smiled and nodded. "Just a little while until your father gets back. Deal?"

"Thank you," Jeannie whispered. She waited until Dr. Collins left the room then leaned forward and gave Steve's forehead a light kiss before sitting back down and bringing his hand up to her cheek. It was cold and his grip had slackened. Tears began to well up in her eyes and roll silently down her face before she could stop them. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would close the flood gates, when she felt cool trembling fingers touch her cheek and brush away the tears. Slowly she opened her eyes and met Steve's gaze. His fingers moved from her cheekbones to her hair and he brushed the loose strands back. "Steve?" Jeannie said hoarsely.

"Come here." Steve gestured weakly for Jeannie to lean forward.

Knowing exactly what Steve was asking and realizing how much she needed the contact, Jeannie moved to lay her head against his shoulder just as his arms reached up and held her close to him.

"I was so scared!" Jeannie cried against Steve's shoulder.

"Oh Jeannie, I'm so sorry." Steve gently stroked Jeannie's hair as she let her emotions ride out. The pain of seeing her breaking down because she was terrified of losing him was far greater than any bullet could inflict.

* * *

_Residence of Tony Brewer, SF, 1973  
_

Although Mike knew his fitness was above average, he struggled to make it over the picket fence that separated Brewer's property from the alleyway that ran adjacent to the junk yard. Through sheer determination and the memory of Steve lying gravely wounded on his hallway floor, Mike pressed onward. The chase led him through the labyrinthine junk yard. Weaving in between the mangled towers of unwanted furniture and appliances, Mike slowed his pace and kept his head down. A shot rang out and the seasoned detective dove to the ground as the speeding bullet ricocheted off a metallic surface beside him. Taking a slow deep breath, Mike carefully pushed himself to his feet then quickly moved forward at a crouch, with his gun held out in front of him. His eyes searched through the gaps among the foliage and he listened for any sound that would give him clues to Brewer's location. When he reached a bend in his path, he stopped and peered around the corner. With no sign of the suspect, Mike started to move when suddenly a heavy weight dropped onto his shoulders from up above, knocking him down and pinning him face first against the dirt. The gun flew from his grasp and lay just out of his reach as he extended his arm, in an attempt to reclaim possession of it.

"Alright, cop! Get up, nice and slow," Brewer ordered in between gritted teeth. He manoeuvred his weight off the detective's back and grabbed a handful of the older man's coat while keeping the barrel of his pistol pressed firmly into the back of his neck.

Bending his knees and pushing upward, Mike raised his hands and felt himself being yanked forcefully to his feet. "Just take it easy, now. You're in way over your head so why don't you just…"

"Shut up!" Brewer growled, digging the barrel of the gun harder into Mike's neck. "We're going to get out of this place together and then we're going to the airport."

"Listen to me hotshot! You're not even going to get anywhere near the airport so let's just talk about this. What do you say?" Mike tried his best to hide his anger and defuse the situation but with adrenaline rushing through him and images of his wounded partner never leaving him, he was finding it increasingly difficult not to let his emotions get in the way of his better judgement.

"I say, _move it_!" Brewer shot back then shoved his hostage onward.

Mike stumbled and almost lost his footing but Brewer's hold of his coat kept him on his feet and he plodded along.

"Let's go, let's go!" Brewer fired up, giving the detective another hard shove.

Recognizing the dangerous predicament he was in, Mike's gut told him if he didn't take down Brewer fast, he was going to be a dead man. Without his partner backing him up, Mike felt like he'd lost another part of himself and it hurt him a great deal.

"You know, if that cop buddy of yours hadn't barged in on us at the wrong time, we wouldn't be here," Brewer remarked scathingly.

At the criminal's unwitting mention of the word, _buddy_, and what it meant to his hostage, Mike's anger magnified tenfold and before he could even think about his actions, he followed through with them. Drowning out whatever else Brewer was saying, Mike wheeled around and swung his arm catching the gunman by surprise as his fingers latched around Brewer's wrist, forcing his arm to point up toward the heavens. A shot fired into the air as Mike grappled for the weapon while Brewer tried vainly to regain control. Exertion showed on the Lieutenant's face as he felt the younger man's strength over powering him. Although he could hear sirens in the background, indicating help was on the way, Mike didn't think he could hold out for much longer. Maintaining his grip on Brewer's wrist with one hand, he drew back the other and drove his fist as hard as he could into his adversary's stomach.

The punch caught Brewer by surprise and as all the air left his lungs, he doubled over and felt the gun twisted out of his grasp. Infuriated, he made one last ditch to take down the cop. Balling his hand into a fist, he lashed out with a wild punch that knocked the fedora off the seasoned detective's head as the cop ducked under the blow in the nick of time.

Kicking the man's legs from under him, Mike shoved Brewer down onto the ground. He pocketed the gun quickly, while using his knee to keep the crook pressed down on the dirt. He then twisted the Brewer's arms behind his back and reached behind to unclip the cuffs from his belt. Breathing hard from the struggle and the adrenaline rush, Mike finally secured the cuffs tightly around Brewer's wrists.

"Come on, on your feet!" Mike commanded gruffly. "You're under arrest for attempted murder, armed robbery and assault." He read him his rights as he dragged the man up off the ground. As he started to march Brewer who started kicking at the dirt and cursing angrily toward the junk yard exit, three SFPD officers raced towards them with Tanner in the lead.

Mike gladly allowed the officers to take Brewer off his hands as Tanner walked up to him.

"Are you okay, Mike?" Tanner asked worriedly as he bent down and retrieved the fedora from the ground then handed it to Mike.

"Yeah, I'm fine. How's the hand?" Mike gestured to the handkerchief wrapped around the Inspector's hand as he dusted off the dirt from his hat before placing it back onto his head.

"Ah, it's just a scratch. It could've been worse," Tanner brushed Mike's concern away then followed the older man to retrieve his gun before they headed out of the junk yard, feeling like they had just walked out from a battlefield.

Mike gave Tanner a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Just a scratch, huh? Come on, let's get it checked out before it gets infected."


	10. Epilogue

_**AN #1: Well, this is it - the conclusion...*sniff, sniff* Thanks to all who have read my story. Special thanks goes to all who had the time to leave me feedback in the form of reviews, PMs or adding by story to their alerts/favorites. My beta has advised me to add a tissue warning for this chapter so here it is...*tissues*  
**_

_**Merci Beau Coup to the wonderful lady who beta read the entire tale.**_

_**"Meixel:": This one is for you - thanks for your gentle "nudges" on my muse to get this story on the road to completion. I appreciate it.**_

_**To my "Hawaii Fve-O" buddy, "honu59" - mahalo for taking the time to read and review my stories in this fandom. **_

_**Tanith**_

* * *

**Epilogue**

_General Hospital, SF, 1973_

For Rosy Wakefield, being released from protective custody paved the way to a new beginning for a new life. The twenty four hours she spent under the watchful eye of Norm Haseejian had left her feeling more confident in herself and determined more than ever to turn her life around and the memories of Officer Rick Stanford became less painful for her to bear. Norm had made her laugh at his bad jokes and treated her with the level of dignity that equalled Rick's. He made her feel safe and even seemed to enjoy the brief companionship they shared. While the prospect of a fresh start in a new city was exactly what she needed, leaving behind someone she could connect with dampened her spirits. In the short space of time she spent with Norm, she thought she had found a friend. Maybe even someone whom she could have thought more of than just a friend. _Stop it! Cops don't marry whores! _With a shuddering sigh, she broke out of her reverie and walked over to the front desk of General hospital, holding a bunch of flowers in one hand and a travel bag in the other. Subtly clearing her throat, she drew the attention of the young receptionist. "I…I'd like to see Mr. Steven Keller."

"Are you a relative of Mr. Keller?" the receptionist asked politely as she used her finger to scroll down the list of patients in her log book.

"No. I'm a friend."

"I'm sorry, Miss, but I'm afraid I'll need to speak to Lieutenant Stone before anyone outside of his family is permitted to see him. I won't be a moment." The receptionist gave an apologetic smile then gestured for the woman before her to take a seat while she made a phone call to SFPD.

Rosy nodded, feeling disheartened. She looked down at the flowers in her hand then said, "It's okay, I have a bus to catch. Can I leave these with you and will you promise to give them to Keller?" She handed the flowers to the receptionist.

"Sure. I'll make sure he gets them," the receptionist replied, taking the flowers from the woman and admiring the beautiful arrangement.

"Thank you." Rosy turned around and walked away melancholically as she made the first steps of leaving behind San Francisco and the people in it.

* * *

_Bus Depot, SF, 1973_

It had been nearly five years since he had broken the engagement with his fiancée and walked out of her life. Now, the Armenian Sergeant hoped he would reach the bus station in time to stop Rosy Wakefield from leaving San Francisco forever. He knew it was crazy to feel any kind of romantic attachment to someone he'd only met yesterday and perhaps it was even senseless for him to fall for someone who worked the streets, someone who used her wiles to bed a man as a means of earning a living. _So why her?_ It was a question to which he knew no answer and one he asked himself all morning before he finally abandoned all reason and worked up the courage to drive to the bus depot in a race against time. With a smile that formed unbidden across his face, Norm saw Rosy Wakefield board the bus that would take her away from him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and called out her name but the roar of the bus engine must've drowned out his voice because she didn't disembark. He could just make out her flame red hair cascading over her slender shoulders as she took a seat by the window. Shaking his head, Norm took off at a run, weaving in between passengers waiting to board another bus. The smile on his face faded as the bus he sought to stop began to pull out and within seconds it drew further and further away as his legs failed to carry him any faster. Gasping for oxygen, Norm slowed to a stop and watched the bus slowly disappear from view down the main highway. The frosty air stung his eyes and each breath formed wisps of steam billowing in the chilly San Francisco winter's day.

* * *

_General Hospital, SF, 1973_

Walking briskly past the front desk, Mike Stone had to double back when a voice called out to him.

"Lieutenant, a woman came by earlier and requested to see Mr. Keller. She said she had a bus to catch and left but she asked me to pass this along," the young blonde receptionist informed the detective. She stood up and walked out from behind her desk then handed the flowers to a puzzled looking Stone.

"Oh? Did she say who she was?" Mike asked, curious to know if it was a date of Steve's. He was all too familiar and at times disapproving of his partner's ventures with women.

"No, but she was very attractive and had long red hair."

Mike smiled, realizing who the young girl was referring to and thanked her then headed toward Steve's room.

* * *

After knocking on the door, Mike walked into Steve's room and smiled broadly at his daughter and partner.

"Are those for me?" Steve asked, grinning mischievously as he pointed at the flowers in Mike's hand.

"As a matter of fact, they are. They're from the receptionist." Mike decided he couldn't resist teasing his protégé.

Jeannie's head whipped back to stare at Steve with a questioning look in her bright blue eyes.

"What can I say? Is it my fault that women find me attractive?" Steve quipped, knowing full well his partner was baiting him.

"Steve!" Jeannie gasped as she swatted his arm with the back of her hand. "And here I was feeling sorry for you."

Steve started to laugh but the pain threatened to return so he cut it short and settled for gently tickling Jeannie's ribs as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Actually a lady left them with the receptionist," Mike clarified.

"See? I told you," Steve quipped, earning another look from Jeannie that told him he was skating on thin ice. He reached out and held her hand in his. Though he knew she was kidding around with him, for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, he felt the need to reassure her that there really was no woman out there vying for his attention. In fact it had been a few weeks since he had dated someone.

"Seriously, if I had to hazard a guess, this came from Rosy Wakefield," Mike began to explain.

"Rosy who?" Steve asked.

"Oh that's right. I almost forgot you've been asleep all this time, Buddy Boy!" Mike chuckled then in a serious tone he continued, "She helped us catch the two guys who landed you here."

Steve licked his lips, unsure how to respond.

"They're beautiful. I'll see if I can find a vase for them," offered Jeannie as she got up from her seat and took the flowers from her father. As she started to carry them toward the door, she noticed something peeking out from the folds of the colored cellophane. She stopped in her tracks and pulled out the object. It was an envelope. "There's something in it." She turned around and handed the envelope to Steve.

Thinking that it was just a get well card, Steve opened the envelope and took out the contents which to his surprise comprised of a note and his badge. He looked up at Mike, expecting an answer.

"I'd wondered what had happened to it." It was all Mike could say as he too was at a loss for words. He fished out Steve's badge case from his coat pocket, walked closer to the bed and handed it to his partner.

After slipping the badge back into its rightful space, Steve unfolded the note and read out loud, "This belongs to you. I should have returned it earlier but you reminded me of someone I once knew. I guess it's time to let go of the past and move on. I'm sorry. Rosy."

An awkward silence filled the room until a knock on the door broke the stillness.

"Come in," Mike called out.

The door opened and Bill Tanner's face appeared, along with Lessing's, Devitt's and Olsen's.

"How on Earth did the lot of you get past Doc?" Mike looked on incredulously.

"Will you keep it down!" Olsen snapped in a strained whisper. "We're not supposed to be here but we thought a few minutes won't hurt. How are you, Steve?"

"I've had better days but I haven't had better company. Thanks Rudy, guys." Steve beamed at the men poking their heads through the doorway. He gave Jeannie's hand a light squeeze and felt her warmth spreading throughout his body, filling his heart with something he hadn't felt in what seemed to be a long time. He may have been at the wrong place in the wrong time when a gunshot almost ended his life, but despite being imprisoned in a hospital room, there was nowhere else he'd rather be today.

_END_

**___AN_**** #2: Thoughts for a sequel/follow-up are in the works depending on the cooperation and motivation of my muse. **


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